Page 45 of The Idiot

I feel body heat behind me. My initial instinct is to flinch, but instead, my skin tingles. I know in an instant that the chest pressing against my back is Jesse’s.

“Hey! Did you get lost?” he asks, draping an arm over my shoulder, pressing closer.

Rod straightens up, looking apprehensive. Crap. I probably look like a player now. I was really starting to like the prospect of having a new friend and don’t want to blow it by appearing taken and unfaithful.

I turn around to create some space between Jesse and me, so he’ll hopefully get the hint that he can stand down. Smiling, he reaches out.

Why is he grabbing my face?

It feels like slow motion—his fingers clasping my jaw on either side. His face moving closer to mine. My heartbeat screeching to a halt. His mouth…

His mouth crashes into mine, smashing my teeth against my lips.

Ouch! That actually fucking hurt—but still…

It’s Jesse’s lips against mine.Jesse’s…andmine.

He’s kissing me.

Drawing back, his mouth parts, and he stares at me, staring at him. I want to pull him back and tell him to give me a redo on the world’s worst kiss that’s somehow still the best I’ve ever had. I want to not wonder what’s going through his head or why he did it and just haul him up to my room, so I can show him all night long how to really kiss. And I want to know why the hell he’s smiling now, slinking his arm around my shoulders, and looking at Rod.

“Keeping an eye on my fella for me?” he quips.

‘His fella?’ What the fuck?

Rod’s gaze flicks to mine. The embarrassment on his face is clear and probably matches mine. A sick sensation of apprehension washes over me.

“Um. Yeah,” Rod concurs, but it doesn’t escape my notice that he takes a casual step back. “He’s safe and sound. No harm done.”

Tilting his beer at me, Rod slips away before I can even formulate words. I’m left gaping at Jesse, who drops his hold on me. He sidles up to the bar and orders himself another beer. Another beer! Like nothing just happened.

He kissed me. Right? Or… mouth-smashed me. Whatever.

That really just happened. I didn’t imagine it.

It had to have happened because my entire body is on fire. My channel is clenching at the memory of my frustrated shower session this morning where Jesse was a guest star in the fog of my frustration and desire.

When he finally looks at me, it’s like he’s putting pieces together. Glancing at the direction Rod went, he grins and flashes me a wink.

“You’re welcome,” he chirps, taking a swig of his beer.

Something inside of me dies, and then it comes back to life, resurrected by unrequited love and months of sexual frustration. He only kissed me to cockblock me.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” I grit.

“I was saving you. Wasn’t it obvious?” He chuckles. The sound grates on my nerves instead of lighting me up like it usually does. “Looks like it worked, too,” he adds, sounding way too proud of himself. “You can buy my next beer as a thank you.”

“I didn’t need saving, numbnuts. I was enjoying talking to the guy. He just asked me to meet him at the rodeo in Ellensburg, but then you came along and pulled that shit.”

“Ellensburg? At the rodeo? Oh… wait. You mean to like…”

For the love of all that is holy, he’s finger-fighting again. I might hurt him. How can I want someone who makes me want to hurt them?

Watching him stab his stupid fingers together, looking completely unfazed about the prospect of me fucking someone other than him, someone I didn’t even have ideas about fucking, is the last straw. It’s the last shred of rejection that I can bear. I needed it. I know I did, but damn it. This is not a vacation any longer. It’s freaking exposure therapy.

Spinning around, I shout to the bartender, ordering myself an entire bottle of scotch. Jesse makes a comment about us partying it up, but I ignore it. Palming the bottle, I grunt a goodnight to him and turn on my heel toward the exit.

“Murph! Hey, where are you going?”

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